Read Online (11/20) Farther Afield by Miss Read - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Miss Read
Tags: Fiction, Literary, General, England, Country Life, Country Life - England, Pastoral Fiction, Crete (Greece), Villages - England
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resting on the glossy cover of a magazine which had blazoned across its corner: 'Australia: Only A Day's Flight Away'.
Suddenly, the pace of the engines altered, the roaring was terrifying, and we started to set off along what one sincerely hoped was the correct runway, and the path to Crete.
Buildings rushed past in the distance, the grass dropped away, the wing of the aeroplane dipped steeply, and far below us, tipped at an absurd angle, the streets and parks, the reservoirs and rivers of Middlesex hung like a stage backcloth.
Excitement welled in me. Amy opened her eyes and smiled.
'Well, we're off at last,' she said, with infinite relief in her voice. 'Now we can enjoy ourselves.'
The adventure had begun.
Part Two
Farther Afield
8 In Crete
O UR first glimpse of Crete was in the golden light of early evening for we had been delayed at Athens airport. It would have given Mrs Pringle some satisfaction.
If we had known how long we should have to wait for the aeroplane to Heraklion we could have taken a taxi into Athens and enjoyed a sight seeing tour. As it was, we were told at half-hourly intervals that the mechanical fault was almost repaired and we should be going aboard within minutes. Consequently, we were obliged to wait, while Amy and her fellow-sufferers grew more and more nervous, and even such phlegmatic travellers as myself grew heartily sick of cups of tepid coffee, and the appalling noise and dust made by a gang of workmen who were laying a marble floor. It was infuriating to be so near the cradle of western civilisation and yet unable to visit it, tethered as we were by the bonds of modern technology, and a pretty imperfect technology at that.
But our view of Crete from the air dispelled our irritation. There it lay, long, green and beautiful in a sea so deeply blue, that the epithet 'wine-dark' which one had accepted somewhat sceptically, was suddenly proved to be true.
Below us, like toys, small boats were crossing to and from the mainland, their white wakes echoed by the white vapour trails of an aeroplane in the blue above.
We circled lower and lower, and now we could see a white frill of waves round the bays, and white houses clustered on the green flanks of the hills. Away to the west the mountains were amethyst-coloured in the thickening light, with Mount Ida plainly to be seen.
By the time we had gone through customs, and boarded a coach, it was almost dark, and we set off eastwards along the coast road to our destination.
It was a hair-raising ride. The surface of the road – probably one of the best in the island – was remarkably rough. The coach which had met us rattled and swayed. Seats squeaked, metal jangled, windows clattered, and the driver kept up a loud conversation with our guide, only breaking off to curse any other vehicle driver foolish enough to cross his path.
We soon realised how mountainous Crete is. The main ridge of mountains runs along the central spine of the island, but the coast road too boasted some alarming ascents and descents. Part of our journey was along a newly built road, but there was still much to be done, and we followed the path used by generations of travellers from Heraklion to Aghios Nikolaos for most of the way.
The last part of the journey took place in darkness. The headlights lit up the white villages through which we either hurtled down or laboured up. Occasionally, we saw a tethered goat cropping busily beneath the brilliant stars, or a pony clopping along at the side of the road, its rider muffled in a rough cloak.
Every now and again the coach shuddered to a halt, and a few passengers descended, laden with luggage, to find their hotel.
'I wouldn't mind betting,' said Amy, with a yawn, 'that we are the last to be put down.'
She would have lost her bet, but only just, for we were the penultimate group to be dropped. Two middle-aged couples, and a family of five struggled from the coach with us and we made our way through a courtyard to
Suddenly, the pace of the engines altered, the roaring was terrifying, and we started to set off along what one sincerely hoped was the correct runway, and the path to Crete.
Buildings rushed past in the distance, the grass dropped away, the wing of the aeroplane dipped steeply, and far below us, tipped at an absurd angle, the streets and parks, the reservoirs and rivers of Middlesex hung like a stage backcloth.
Excitement welled in me. Amy opened her eyes and smiled.
'Well, we're off at last,' she said, with infinite relief in her voice. 'Now we can enjoy ourselves.'
The adventure had begun.
Part Two
Farther Afield
8 In Crete
O UR first glimpse of Crete was in the golden light of early evening for we had been delayed at Athens airport. It would have given Mrs Pringle some satisfaction.
If we had known how long we should have to wait for the aeroplane to Heraklion we could have taken a taxi into Athens and enjoyed a sight seeing tour. As it was, we were told at half-hourly intervals that the mechanical fault was almost repaired and we should be going aboard within minutes. Consequently, we were obliged to wait, while Amy and her fellow-sufferers grew more and more nervous, and even such phlegmatic travellers as myself grew heartily sick of cups of tepid coffee, and the appalling noise and dust made by a gang of workmen who were laying a marble floor. It was infuriating to be so near the cradle of western civilisation and yet unable to visit it, tethered as we were by the bonds of modern technology, and a pretty imperfect technology at that.
But our view of Crete from the air dispelled our irritation. There it lay, long, green and beautiful in a sea so deeply blue, that the epithet 'wine-dark' which one had accepted somewhat sceptically, was suddenly proved to be true.
Below us, like toys, small boats were crossing to and from the mainland, their white wakes echoed by the white vapour trails of an aeroplane in the blue above.
We circled lower and lower, and now we could see a white frill of waves round the bays, and white houses clustered on the green flanks of the hills. Away to the west the mountains were amethyst-coloured in the thickening light, with Mount Ida plainly to be seen.
By the time we had gone through customs, and boarded a coach, it was almost dark, and we set off eastwards along the coast road to our destination.
It was a hair-raising ride. The surface of the road – probably one of the best in the island – was remarkably rough. The coach which had met us rattled and swayed. Seats squeaked, metal jangled, windows clattered, and the driver kept up a loud conversation with our guide, only breaking off to curse any other vehicle driver foolish enough to cross his path.
We soon realised how mountainous Crete is. The main ridge of mountains runs along the central spine of the island, but the coast road too boasted some alarming ascents and descents. Part of our journey was along a newly built road, but there was still much to be done, and we followed the path used by generations of travellers from Heraklion to Aghios Nikolaos for most of the way.
The last part of the journey took place in darkness. The headlights lit up the white villages through which we either hurtled down or laboured up. Occasionally, we saw a tethered goat cropping busily beneath the brilliant stars, or a pony clopping along at the side of the road, its rider muffled in a rough cloak.
Every now and again the coach shuddered to a halt, and a few passengers descended, laden with luggage, to find their hotel.
'I wouldn't mind betting,' said Amy, with a yawn, 'that we are the last to be put down.'
She would have lost her bet, but only just, for we were the penultimate group to be dropped. Two middle-aged couples, and a family of five struggled from the coach with us and we made our way through a courtyard to
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